


take two

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, I Wrote This For Me, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Reflection, Sexual Content, Wedding Planning, because i am self indulgent, but here u go anyway, maybe u will like it too, tom and the internalized biphobia strikes again, tom's unhinged and so am i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Objectively, the proposal is the easiest part of the whole wedding planning business, but Tom'll be damned if this time doesn't stick.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 123
Kudos: 71





	1. the proposal

**Author's Note:**

> uhh yeah tom and greg planning their wedding in fic form that nobody asked for? yeah i got ya hold on
> 
> i really really enjoy wedding planning as a like, hobby i guess? and i figured i'd project it on to tom and greg. even so, tom seemed sort of excited to plan his and shiv's so maybe it's not that far off. anyway i am Going Through It in my real day to day life, so i'll just write fluff until i feel better

Last time had proved, if nothing else, that apparently not asking for a parents blessing in a marriage was a precursor to a bad marriage. Sure, there were other things, massively shitty other things that had gotten in the way of a successful forever partnership, but Tom wasn’t taking any chances this time. He felt like he’d already screwed the first one up so bad, that he had to make _this_ one count. 

Besides, Greg deserved his giving it his full honest to God college try. 

So that’s why he’d sat down at the kitchen table early one morning, long before Greg would be up and stared at his phone, Marianne’s number pulled up. All he had to do was click call. 

But instead he got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. Gave Mondale his breakfast. Flipped through the news on his laptop. Did anything to avoid having to go through with it. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get married, except that he was nervous that if they _got_ married everything would be fucked because that’s what had happened last time. And that wasn’t fair to Greg and it wasn’t fair to him, but it was the truth. Marriage was, before anything else, a legal status, a way to combine finances, and get health insurance, and get a tax break. Tom didn’t find it so romantic anymore. It was just sort of something that you did. 

And that was cynical and fucked and he was going to try to get rid of that idea before the wedding. 

Gathering his courage, he pressed dial. 

“Hello?”

“Hi Marianne.”

“Hello Tom. Is everything alright? It’s early.”

That was true. He had entirely forgotten about the concept of time zones since he’d been so worked up about the phone call itself. Hopefully it wasn’t a strike in the bad column. 

“Sorry.”

“That’s alright. What’s going on?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Tom said. He poked at his uneaten breakfast and then pushed the plate away. He’d lost his appetite to his nerves, “It’s good though.”

She didn’t reply. He could practically picture her waiting for him to speak. Greg had a habit of talking to fill the quiet. It made him uneasy or something, but Marianne would force the silence upon you. Make _you_ fill it.

“I wanted to ask you if you thought it’d be alright if I asked Greg to marry me.”

It felt good to say the words. Even if his views of marriage were fucked, even if he knew it was more of a legal standing than anything else. Even with all of that, it sounded kind of nice. 

“Why are you asking me this?”

_Because I’m too scared to ask him without some kind of assurance it’s a good idea. Because I’m so in love with him but I still feel like a fucking monster for everything, still feel so incredibly undeserving of a happy ending._

“Because you’re his mother. I thought it’d be nice.”

“You want my blessing.”

“I suppose. I know that’s a little bit archaic.”

“Just ask him Tom. Don’t dance around it any longer. If you want to marry him, ask him. Maybe you’ll have better luck this time around.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Maybe so.”

“Are you serious about _this_ marriage?”

Every dig, every comment, Tom felt he deserved. She had every right to comment on what had happened, because Tom knew he was the one who did the bad thing. Greg hadn’t been married. Tom had cheated on his wife. Tom was the bad one. How did she know that this was a good idea?

“Yes,” he said, “I know you maybe don’t believe that.”

“I’m willing to try to believe it.”

“I’m going to prove it to you.”

“I look forward to it. Have a good proposal.”

It was her way of joking, he thought, but the call had only _slightly_ lessened his anxiety about the whole thing. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t really expected it to help very much. He tucked his phone away, thought he heard Greg get up and go into the bathroom, and he set the ring box on the table. He wasn’t sure this was the right move, but it was too late now. He slid the box across the table and waited.

“You’re up early,” Greg stifled a yawn, “What’s up?’

“Couldn’t sleep,” Tom replied, “I made coffee.”

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked. Tom watched him pour his coffee, managing to somehow spill a little bit onto the counter, “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are.” Greg frowned and turned to face him, “What’s wrong with you? Are you mad at me?”

“You’re such a dumbass,” Tom replied, “Why would I be mad at you? What’d you do?”

“I think that sometimes you get mad at me instead of other people who you’re supposed to be mad at.”

“Don’t therapize me. I told you not to do that.”

Even though he was right. Even though Tom did try not to do that.

“Will you sit down and not stand over there like a fucking tree. I want to talk to you about something.”

It didn’t seem to erase the vaguely concerned, vaguely wary look from Greg’s face, but he sat down at the table, set his mug down, and Tom watched his eyes settle on the black box.

“Is this yours?” he asked. 

Tom didn’t answer.

“Is it mine?” Greg asked quietly, “Like, is it for me?”

Tom knew Greg was a dumbass, but Greg was also smart. It was more than likely he’d already put two and two together. He was probably dragging it out like this just to tease Tom. 

“Open it and see dumbfuck.”

“Tom,” Greg smiled, and popped the box open, “I’m obviously going to marry you so I don’t know why you have to be like this all time time. You’re so dramatic, like, about everything. Like, yes.”

“I can’t stand you,” Tom said, but he couldn’t help but smiling at the ease in Greg’s answer, at how fucking stupid he’d been aganizing over it for the past several days. Things weren’t always easy with Greg, but in the end, they usually turned out alright.

“Not to make it a thing, but dude,’ Greg shook his head, “You’re going to legally show me otherwise here, so like, I don’t really think I believe you.”

“Very well,” Tom nodded, “I suppose that’s fair enough.”

“Have you like, I mean, do you know how to plan a wedding? Cause I have no fucking clue.”

“Well not a very successful one,” Tom reasoned, “But I’m sure we can figure it out Gregory.”

“Yeah. We can figure it out like, I’m sure there’s like a website.”

“People have actually planned weddings before you know. It’s not a new concept.”

“Well like, for me it is,” Greg said, and Tom watched him rub the back of his neck. He felt a little guilty for being so blase about it, for blowing it off when not everybody had had a marriage fall apart before their very eyes. That not everybody was a fucking cynic like he was. That some people were still romantic and hopeful at heart. 

“Sorry,” Tom said softly, “Greg?”

“Yeah?” Greg didn’t look up at him, but was looking wide eyed and amazed at the ring in the box. He’d yet to even take it out, much less put it on.

“I’ll plan you a good wedding."

And, Tom thought, if things went right, if he could manage not to fuck things up for once, and even better marriage.


	2. timelines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries to figure out the appropriate engagement length. Tom just thinks he's pretty cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again. this is so self indulgent jesus christ

“I brought you these,” Tom said, dropping the large pile of magazines onto the table. Greg looked up from his laptop and frowned.

“What are they?” He picked up the first one and examined the cover. Tom bit back a snarky comment about _well what do they look like Greg?_ and smiled.

“Wedding planning shit,” Tom replied, “Because I have a feeling you are woefully unprepared for how you plan.”

“I mean,” Greg flipped the first magazine open to a random article. Tom read upside down that it appeared to be about making your own centerpieces, “I feel like I’ve got kind of a basic idea? I mean, I watch wedding shows sometimes when I’m sad.”

“That’s depressing.

“They’re very entertaining.”

“I think first,” Tom came around behind him and settled his hands on Greg’s shoulders, who tilted his head back to smile up, “First we need to pick a date.”

“Well like, the internet,” Greg motioned to his laptop, in case, evidently, Tom did not know where one might find the internet, “It says thirteen to eighteen months is like, an engagement time.”

“That’s a hell of a long time,” Tom said, though really a year long engagement wasn’t remotely uncommon. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to rush things, not at all, but he wanted to be married. Holy shit did he want to get married. And it surprised even himself, given how epicly terrible the last one had gone, but it was true. 

“I never thought I was going to get married,” Greg said, when Tom sat and picked up one of the magazines. It had a smiling woman on the cover who was apparently going to explain the beach weddings to him. He couldn’t really see either of them at a beach wedding, but she sure seemed to think they were fucking spectacular, “Like, I mean. I don’t know.”

“No,” Tom shook his head and thumbed through several glossy pages, “Say it.”

“I just remember thinking, like when my parents broke up, like, how could I do that? It just kind of turned me off the idea. Then _you_ got married and anybody that I even wanted to get married to was already married and like, bigamy is illegal you know?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “My God, you’re a freak.”

“So like,” Greg pushed the first magazine aside and twisted the ring on his finger. Tom had spent three hours lurking in four different jewelry stores before settling on the right ring. It was _almost_ funny because in the end he had settled on the simplest band he’d come across the entire trip. He was also certain that the sales people were more than happy to see him leave. He knew he was probably a dick customer. Maybe he’d send Greg in alone to buy the wedding bands so they didn’t have to deal with him again, “I just want to make sure that it’s _right_ because like, I don’t know man.”

“You know you’re allowed to want things. Wanting a wedding you like is not a fucking big request Greg. We’ll take as long as you fucking want alright? Quit freaking out about it.”

Greg nodded and looked down, “I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

“That the more time that passes, the less likely you’ll still want to marry me. Just like, you’ll get tired of me or whatever. I don’t know. I feel like you could do better. Like, I don’t know. I just get worried that you’re like, joking with me or whatever.”

Sometimes, Greg would say things, and Tom was pretty sure he could actually feel his own heart crack. How long had Greg been stewing on _that_ before he got the guts to say it. Was he scared of what Tom would say? How fucked up was that.

“You just said thirteen to eighteen months was an average engagement time. Do you think people worry about that during those months?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. But like, they’re not us. So like. It’s different.”

“Greg, I wouldn’t have proposed to you if I didn’t want to get married to you,” Tom said firmly. He reached out and squeezed Greg’s hand, “So none of that matters. We’ll take our time. Do it right. Don’t rush it cause you think I’m going to run off. Look, I want to plan a wedding just as much as you do. I didn’t get to last time. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“How about June?” Tom suggested, finding it best to change the topic. He’d learned that Greg could easily spiral if you didn’t cut things off early. He didn’t mind it, not really. He’d rather help Greg deal with whatever it was than let Greg stew in it for a while, but this was a moot point. He was wrong. Tom was in this for fucking good, “June weddings are popular for a reason. It won’t be too hot yet, and that gives us more than eight months of planning time.”

“June’s nice,” Greg smiled, “Yeah, like, I can see June.”

“June then,” Tom said, “I’ll mark it in my calendar. June, getting married to the pretty boy who steals my covers at night, save the date.”

Tom watched Greg redden, and smirked to himself. If nothing else, he was exceptionally good at making Greg flustered. It was so easy too, because he was just fairly certain no one had ever properly flirted with Greg before, so he’d never learned how to properly deal with it. 

That in itself was sort of shocking. Sure, Greg was a little goofy looking sometimes, and a little bit of a dumbass, but Tom thought he was handsome. Not that he’d ever come out and say it like that, but he didn’t know why nobody else saw it.

“You really are bad at hiding it,” Tom said, “How much you like to be called shit like that. Holy fuck Greg.”

“Hey man, fuck off,” Greg said, half hearted, “But like yeah. It’s kind of nice.”

“Then how’s about I take you to bed then pretty boy? June’s pretty far away, I think you can spare some time.”

“Yes,” Greg said quickly, shutting the magazine, “Yes please.”

“Then what are we waiting for _pretty boy?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always


	3. guest list

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom tries to make the guest list and deal with the bad taste left behind from his other wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this while i was watching succession sooo

Tom was pretty sure pulling together a guest list for the wedding would be the easiest part. It was fucking sad to admit, but it wasn’t like they had a lot of friends, and half of Greg’s family couldn’t very well come, given everything. 

(Though Tom had to admit, if he wasn't terrified of Logan, inviting him might have been worth the laugh.)

“So I assume it’s a no on your dad for the wedding,” Tom said, pen hovering over the notebook. The list was growing slowly but surely. Greg leaned over to take another glance. 

“I mean like, no?”

Tom chuckled, “I was just fucking with you. Do you think he would even come?”

“Maybe for the free food,” Greg frowned and put his head on Tom’s shoulder. It was early morning now, the chill lingering in the air. Tom thought he worked best in the mornings, but Greg was usually fairly useless, “He’d be very dickish about it.”

“So I vote no. I think dickish fathers is not something we need to have.”

“Yeah right?”

“You don’t have any serious exes who are going to show up do you? That you’ve neglected to mention to me?” Tom asked, scribbling his aunt’s name down on the sheet. He sometimes felt bad, saying things like this. Comparing what he and Greg were now, to what he and Shiv had been once upon a time, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he just _said_ things, realizing only after that they were probably nasty. He wouldn’t like it very much if Greg constantly compared them to a previous relationship.

“That’s a weirdly specific question,” Greg stifled a yawn. Tom was again mildly amazed that Greg did not seem to give a fuck, “I don’t think I’d like, invite my college hookups to our wedding man. There’s nobody serious enough to even _consider_ an invite.”

“I just don’t want to be accosted at my own wedding,” Tom reasoned, muttering half to himself, “ _Again._ ”

“I promise I’m not, like, keeping anything from you. There’s no ex boyfriend coming that you’ve never met. But like dude, not to be dramatic, but you’re like, miles above the people I fucked around with in college.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment? I’m better than your college fuck buddies? I should hope that’s not _hard._ ”

“Yes.”

“Well thanks fucklehead,” Tom nudged Greg’s knee with his own, “I’m _honored._ ”

“What else do you need to scratch off your little list?” Greg asked. It was meant to sound annoyed or teasing, but it failed to do so. In fact, it sounded almost genuine, “It’s like, a little neurotic. Like what’s the reason?”

“I’m trying to rule out everything that was _bad_ last time, so that maybe this time will go better.”

“Oh,” Greg said softly, understanding, “That’s like, that’s really sweet.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “Do you think Grandpa Ewan will come?”

“Probably. If it’s close by enough. Honestly man, he’s not coming to England for this. You know what I mean? Like he’ll probably just send a card.”

“We’re not having this in England,” Tom said firmly, “Actually, I thought maybe we could go to St. Paul.”

He dropped it casually, like he didn’t mind either way, but in reality, Tom had never wanted to go home so bad. But he wasn’t going to let Greg know how much he wanted that. Better to gage Greg’s reaction on the matter first.

“You want to go there?”

Tom nodded, “I think I feel bad making my parents trek out again. I mean, if that’d be alright with you?”

It was a little bit of a lie. He did feel bad, but mostly because he’d dragged his parents along on this shitshow for as long as he did. Sure, it be nice if they didn’t have to travel, but he knew they wouldn’t mind one bit. 

Greg didn’t need to know the real reason. Not right now anyway.

“Sure. I mean like, that’d be nice.”

“You’re so useless Gregory,” Tom shook his head.

“Look,” Greg sat up. Tom liked to go out running in the mornings, liked to be dressed for breakfast, but Greg was still in his pajamas, his hair still tousled from sleep. It was stupidly endearing, “What else do I need to like, assure you about? Like, I meant it when I said that I don’t want an open thing.”

“Good,” Tom nodded, “I’m selfish. I want you to myself.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish about _this_ thing Tom.”

“Fuck you.”

“Do you know, like, a place? In St. Paul?” Greg stood up and stretched, meandering over to the coffee pot. He held it up in offering to Tom, who shook his head, “A venue, if you will.”

“Funnily enough, you can actually look those things up online. We’ll find somewhere. Going to have to have tall ceilings of course?”

Greg stared at him for a moment, clearly trying to see if he could guess where Tom was going, “Why?”

“So you don’t bang your head on the doorway you freakishly tall fuck.”

“Is this just you being mad that you’re shorter than I am?”

“Fuck off Greg, I’m going to cross you off the list. You’re going to be uninvited.”

“To-to my own wedding?” Greg smiled, “Like, can you do that?”

“I’m making the guest list aren’t I?”

“You’re gonna marry _yourself?_ That’s pathetic dude.”

Tom laughed, “I’m marrying _you_ dumbass. You’re committed now. No way out.”

“I wouldn’t want to have a way out.”

“Don’t be all cute about this,” Tom pointed at him with the pen, “It’s disgusting. Now, do you have any fucking friends you want to invite or not?”

“Yeah I’m not, like, the best at making friends. Nobody wanted to talk to me after DC honestly.”

“Sorry,” Tom said.

Greg shook his head, “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for it Tom. Even like, if I did. I _don’t_ anymore. Right?”

Right,” Tom nodded. He really hoped Greg meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	4. venue hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg look for a reception venue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4/? of me being criminally self indulgent

Tom had taken over looking for venues for the most part. Greg claimed it was because he knew St. Paul better, and that Greg would like whatever Tom liked. 

Tom thought this was bullshit, but he couldn’t figure out _why_ it was bullshit. There was something in it that seemed off, but he didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t that Greg didn’t care, because he’d made several decisions on his own, and promised to take care of the flowers himself and had very strong opinions on what sort of music should be played at the reception and at weddings in general, but then other tasks he seemed to have no opinion on what so ever. It was mildly frustrating, but confusing more than anything else.

“What about this one?” Tom asked. They were in bed, and Greg had his head on Tom’s chest, cramming both of them into one space so he could see the laptop screen. Tom knew he could be clingy, but Greg was like a fucking sloth sometimes, “Look at that big dance floor.”

“I suck at dancing,” Greg muttered, as if that was some kind of answer. 

“That doesn’t surprise me. Have you ever actually properly danced before? You know we’re going to have to do that. No way will my mother let the reception go by without a first dance from the happy couple.”

“I’ll let you lead. I might step on your feet. Is that like grounds for annulment?”

“Oh absolutely it is. I might have to kill you.”

“You should wait and take out a life insurance policy first,” Greg said, “Least get something out of it.”

“What the fuck.”

“Go to the next picture.”

Tom clicked through several photos, pausing on each until he felt Greg had seen enough, “Is it too… kitschy? For a wedding reception? It looks like somewhere you have your Sweet Sixteen.”

“It’s literally a place built to have receptions in,” Greg said, “Like that’s it’s one job. I like it.”

“Course you do. You have kind of bad taste Greg. ”

“Yeah otherwise like, I wouldn’t be marrying you.”

“That’s a good comeback, I’ll give you that one.”

Greg sighed, and pulled the covers up higher. Tom bookmarked the page and shut his laptop. He set it to the side. 

“You’re the worst person to plan a wedding with,” Tom said, “You’re fucking uselss.”

“I just know it’s important to you. And like, yeah, it’ll be fun and important, but like, I get the impression that you _didn’t_ get to do that last time. It’s important to me that we plan a good wedding right? But it’s also important to me that you get to do this cause honestly man? You’re not getting a third try. I’m not letting you get a divorce from me.”

“You have this habit Greg, of saying this incredibly romantic and sweet stuff, and saying it like a dumbass. What the fuck is all that about?”

“I think it’s just like, being supportive or whatever.”

_It’s nice and I don’t want you to ever stop. I have never felt as fucking loved as I do right now,_ Tom wanted to say, but instead he just rolled his eyes. No shot he would say that. He didn’t even want Greg to get the impression that he was thinking like that.

“We should go _see_ the place first,” Greg said, stifling a yawn, “If it’s not like, _right_ Grandpa will bitch more than usual.”

“Gregory, darling, there is absolutely no way he can be worse than Logan. Please understand that. I’m willing to put up with fucking Grandpa Greenpeace complaining that the lights aren’t carbon neutral or whatever so long as boar on the floor isn’t a family tradition.”

“Yeah I think that was just a personal power trip,” Greg said thoughtfully, “But like, I can promise it won’t be that bad.”

“I’m going to hold you to that promise Mr. Hirsch. I swear to God I am. If your grandfather is as batshit power hungry maniacal as his brother, I’ll leave you at the altar. I’ll do it.”

Maybe it was just his imagination, or wishful thinking or something, but Tom thought that maybe Greg tightened his grip on Tom’s shirt. Almost like he was trying to stop him from leaving.

It was probably not that. But it was nice to think so in a way. Nice to think that Greg liked him there. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Greg muttered. Tom was probably keeping him up at this point. He tried to read the clock without pushing Greg off, but it looked like it was after midnight, “I’ll drag you to the altar if I have to. Like, just knock you out and you’ll wake up married to me. I think that Grandpa would think that was fun so he’d probably help me.”

“Is that a _threat_?”

“No,” Greg chuckled, “It’s a promise.”

“I’m swooning already,” Tom replied, like there was anything that was going to stop him from showing up on the wedding day at the appointed time. Not that he’d let Greg know that. It was best to keep the extent of all that to himself. It was probably unhealthy. To act that way, to keep his actual feelings buried under shit like this, but he didn’t want to let Greg into that. Not yet anyway.

Maybe he’d save it for the fucking vows. Fuck. How would he get out of writing vows? There was no way he was going to put all that shit out in the open for their guests. He couldn’t even say it to himself when he was along.

He made a small note to write them all down. Maybe he’d mail them to Greg without a return address and pretend he didn’t know who they were from when they arrived.

“That’s the place,” Greg muttered, nuzzling into Tom’s shirt, “I think that’s the place.”

“Go to sleep,” Tom said, reaching just far enough to flip off the light, “We can go visit it soon. Mom’ll want to see it. You know how she is.”

“I like her.”

“Goodnight Greg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for putting up with me


	5. cake tasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg go cake tasting, despite the fact that there's no actual cake in this entire chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im probably making this fluffier than they deserve but uhhhh times are tough?

Tom’s mother had given them a list of bakeries that she claimed would be perfect for their cake, and presented it to them when they arrived in town, to finalize the venue and get everything out of the way that they _couldn’t_ do in New York, since Tom thought that they wouldn’t be back until the actual wedding week. 

“Make sure you both like the cake Tommy,” she said, fussing with his jacket as she spoke, “And don’t be afraid to shop around. The cake is a staple at the reception.”

Tom was often amazed at his mother’s ability to move past everything. He had come to her sheepishly, talking of divorce, only to find her laying out exactly how it would look legally. He’d been even more sheepish telling her that he wanted to marry Greg, half expecting her to think he was being stupid. That he was rushing ahead again, and it would only end in his getting hurt. Again.

But instead she’d been thrilled he was asking her opinion on so many aspects of the wedding. Maybe he’d been too much of a pushover the first time. Didn’t he have a right to plan his wedding as much as the other person? 

“I will,” Tom said, “I’ll call you after right? And remember, no people food for Mondale. He gets a cup tonight.”

“Have fun,” she squeezed his shoulder, and then looked past him, “Have fun Greg!”

“Bye Mrs. Wambsgans!” he called back, waving from where he was leaning against the car. 

“I like him,” she said, sighing, “Keep this one around Tommy. You’re so much happier with him.”

“Alright,” he slipped out of his mother’s grasp, mostly in an effort to avoid talking about this specific subject with her. She kept trying to make him talk about the divorce, about Shiv, about all of it, but he thought he’d done a pretty good job avoiding it so far. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could talk about it with her, but it was more that he didn’t want to tell her everything that had happened. He hardly wanted to talk about it with Greg, and Greg already knew it, “Bye Mom.”

“No way you’re driving dumbass, we’ll end up in another state,” Tom said, shooing Greg off the car, “Get in the other side.”

They got into the car, and Tom flipped on the radio. He handed the list his mother had written off to Greg. 

“So what are we thinking? Four tiers? Mom said fifty people are three tiers.”

“So we get the top tier,” Greg nodded, and shuffled through the list. Tom had made three appointments, meaning they’d be gone most of the day, but given that they were only in town for less than a week, they had to cram everything together, “My Mom says you’re supposed to like, freeze it. Have it on your first anniversary.”

“Assuming we make it that far.”

“Dude,” Greg said, and Tom thought he sounded more hurt than Tom thought he was going to at the words.

“I’m just kidding.”

He was _mostly_ kidding, but he would be lying if he said that wasn’t a concern. He was absolutely positive that he loved Greg. He was also absolutely positive that he wanted to be married to Greg for the rest of his life. But once upon a time he had been certain about those things with Shiv and that had bit him in the ass. Maybe it was better to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

God, wasn’t that just pathetic?

“We’re making it a year Tom,” Greg said, an uncharacteristic seriousness creeping into his tone, “I’m like, so serious. Like we _have_ to make it.”

“What do you mean?”

Greg shook his head, “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does fucking matter. So tell me or I’ll pull the car over and make you tell me.”

“It’s only,” Greg looked down at his hands and twisted his ring. Tom noticed that he hardly took it off, and it made him feel like he’d made a good decision for once in his life, “I just like, need this to work. Like, you know that I love you so much and I never thought that I’d get married so I can’t fuck this up. I just want us to work out. I don’t know. I just don’t want to be like my parents. I want to like, grow old with you or whatever, but I’m worried I’m going to mess it up somehow.”

Tom pulled over to the side of the road anyway. He put his flashers on, took off his seatbelt and turned properly in his seat, “You are not going to mess this up.”

“Maybe though.”

“Look, it’d be shitty of me to say that it’s all going to be fucking rainbows and sunshine Greg. I know we’re going to have problems. But I’m willing to make it work if you are. Right? Like, we’re on the same page about shit. Marriage is technically nothing more than a legal institution. We don’t have to change _anything_ about how we are.” Really, Tom was saying it more for himself than for Greg, but if it helped Greg along the way then that was fine by him, “We’re getting married because it’s a formality.”

“But you _do_ want to marry me?”

“Yes Greg. I want to marry you.”

There was Greg’s seatbelt in the way, but Tom climbed half over the seat to kiss him, hand in Greg’s hair. Greg let out a noise of surprise, and Tom heard the papers fall to the ground.

“You’re gonna smack your head on the roof,” Greg said, when Tom finally let him go.

“Whatever,” Tom replied, and kissed him again, “What kind of a wedding cake do you want?”

“Fuck man I don’t know,” Greg buried his face in the crook of Tom’s neck. It was ridiculously cramped in the front seat with Tom practically in Greg’s _lap_ but he hardly even noticed, “Can’t go wrong with like a classic white cake right? That’s like, what people eat at weddings. Maybe we should just let the bakers decide.”

“It’s just a cake right?” Tom put a hand on Greg’s face and brushed his thumb across, “In the grand scheme of the universe as long as it doesn’t taste like shit it won’t matter.”

“Grandpa’s favorite is chocolate.”

“Let’s look for that then. Picking battles is very important.”

“Did you learn that in therapy?”

Tom smacked him on the shoulder and laughed, “Fuck you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	6. invites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg open their invitations and Tom gets to Thinkin'

Greg dumped the box onto the kitchen table with a thud. Mondale, wondering if the activity involved him came over to see, and retreated only after Greg had given him sufficient pats on the head.

“Look what came,” he said, tearing the box open with his key, “Hopefully they meet your standards.”

“You did good with the save the dates,” Tom said, watching Greg pull out everything, “So I would imagine your talent extended to invitations. You have a _talent_ for important documents.”

Greg crumpled up one of the paper inserts and chucked it across the table at Tom.

“Fuck off,” Greg said, “You literally saw these before I ordered them. Hopefully they spelled your name right. They, like, called me to make sure it wasn’t a typo. They couldn’t believe it.”

“Dumbass,” Tom chucked the paper ball back at him, “It’s _German._ ”

“It’s too many letters.”

Greg ripped the first batch open and picked one up to look over. They’d gone back and forth on the right way to word the invitations. One family wasn’t paying, and Tom didn’t like how formal some of the wording was. This wasn’t exactly formal. Finally they’d decided on the least obnoxious way, picked a neutral beige, and ordered. 

“You’re writing the addresses,” Tom said, picking one up for himself. They were printed on a thick cardstock, the letters embellished in a shiny gold. Tom honestly thought they were lovely. They’d ordered early-- the internet said they didn’t need to send them out for several months still, but Tom liked having things checked off his to do list. 

“My handwriting is like, not very pleasing,” Greg said, “I think we should just print them out. Where’s the list?”

“On my computer.”

It was weird to see it in print now. That Tom Wambsgans and Gregory Hirsch-- Greg had insisted on his full name-- asked for the honor of your joining them to celebrate their wedding. Like seeing it written down made it more real. 

“We got time for that though,” Greg put the stacks of invitations back into the box, “Should I put this with the other wedding shit?”

“No go right ahead and throw them out the window. Yes, Greg, obviously.”

Greg rolled his eyes and put the box under his arm. He had one invitation out still, Tom noticed, and he watched Greg go over to the fridge and hang it up in the middle, next to the dry cleaning receipt and a birthday card Tom’s mother had sent that Greg had hung up.

“You going to forget the date?” Tom asked. 

“No,” Greg shook his head, “I just want to look at it. It, like, makes me happy I guess?”

“Disgusting,” Tom muttered.

Greg rolled his eyes again, “We should probably double check it right? Make sure we got everybody and like, we have enough invites.”

Tom agreed, and pulled the document up. It was significantly shorter than his wedding with Shiv, but maybe that was alright. He knew he had to stop comparing the two. It wasn’t only unfair to himself, but it was deeply unfair to Greg. 

Even if Greg would never admit it, Tom knew it was.

It wasn’t fair to compare the two because they were not even remotely close to be the same, save for the fact that they were both weddings where he would be getting married, and involving people that he loved. 

But he didn’t even love Shiv in the same way he loved Greg. He loved Shiv-- still did, Greg refused to ask him to stop-- and he loved Greg. But the way he loved Shiv was fiercely. Protectively. He wanted to shield her from the bad things in the world, the nastiness of her father and of the world. It was the kind of love meant for nightclubs, and high rises, and fast cars. The kind of love for yachts, and castle weddings, and summer palaces. It was a beautiful world, that was true. Maybe Tom had tried too hard to try and steal her from it. Just because he didn't fit in the world of the Roys didn’t mean that she didn’t. He couldn’t _force_ her to change.

Shiv was no damsel, that was true, but Tom had wanted to play knight in shining armor. 

She hadn’t wanted that either. 

But he loved Greg softly.

The kind of love for slow mornings at home, for dumb arguments, and late nights in bed, and shitty diners, and coffee in chipped mugs. It was love for weddings in hometowns, and lazy mornings in the kitchen with Mondale.

Perhaps that was how he could justify loving two people at the same time. The sort of love he felt for Shiv wasn’t a kind he could sustain for a long time. Tom tried-- no one could say he hadn’t tried-- to fit in. He had given up everything to shed the fucking starry eyed boy from the Midwest he’d been, but in the end, maybe you can’t do that.

The kind of love he could give long term was the kind that Greg wanted. 

“Hey man?” Greg waved to get his attention, “You alright?”

“Uh huh,” Tom said, which was, he discovered, fairly true, “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Look, we’re not inviting Shiv right? Or the others?”

“I don’t know how we can really,” Greg frowned, “I mean, they’re gonna find out eventually anyway aren’t they?”

“Most likely.”

“And if we invite them do you think they’ll come?”

“Probably not,” Tom frowned. If Shiv invited him to her wedding, he didn’t think he would go, but he honestly didn’t know the protocol for inviting ex spouses to your wedding. Especially if you didn’t end on the nicest term, and were also marrying their cousin who you’d fucked while you were still married. He wasn’t sure anybody else had experienced this exact situation and had also posted about it somewhere Tom could go to for advice, “I wouldn’t.”

“So then like, maybe it’s good that we don’t.”

“Logan probably already knows,” Tom reasoned, “You know what he’s like.”

“Yeah he probably does,” Greg sighed, “Sorry you have shitty luck with fathers in law.”

Tom smiled, “It’s alright. Least your father fucks off and leaves you alone.”

“Yeah,” Greg nodded, “I think it’s like a good list. I want to have fun at our wedding you know?”

“Course you do,” Tom sat back in his seat, “It’s going to be your only one after all. I’m going to adamantly refuse to divorce you no matter what. You’re simply going to be stuck with me.”

“Tom?”

“What?”

“I’m alright being stuck with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you! as! always! love y'all!


	7. legalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg discuss pre marriage arrangements

Normally, Tom would not have been caught dead in a resturant such as this, but Greg had made his fucking puppy dog face and talked about how good he thought their food was, and it had been a bit of a blur after that, but here they sat.

Greg was the sort of person who thought Olive Garden was a proper Italian restaurant. Maybe they’d just have to go to Italy so Tom could prove him wrong.

(The food wasn’t that bad really. Just cheap and a bit cookie cutter. He wouldn’t tell that to Greg.)

“So, important question,” Tom said. The alcohol was good at least, “Legal question.”

“What is it?” Greg asked.

“What are we choosing for last names?”

“Oh,” Greg frowned, “I mean, I have to take your obnoxious last name.”

“Only if you want to dickhead.”

“Course I do,” Greg laughed, “Like, go big or go home right? So like, what sounds better; Hirsch-Wambsgans or Wambsgans-Hirsch?”

Tom, who had not at all expected Greg to consider a hyphenated last name, blinked. 

In reality, he’d mostly brought it up just to get the conversation out of the way early on. He didn’t think Greg had a particular attachment to his last name-- it wasn’t Roy after all-- but again, it had been more like a formality than an actual question. Actually, he’d assumed that they’d just keep their last names and go from there.

He decided to go with it instead of focusing on any of that.

“The second one. Obviously,” Tom took a long sip of wine. Sure, it wasn’t the best wine he’d ever had, but maybe Greg _did_ know something about where you could get good food, “Are you actually serious about it?”

“Duh,” Greg kicked him lightly under the table, “I’m not going to be your husband and like, not get your name. Plus like, if you take mine as well then it’s like a mutual claiming. Very egalitarian.”

“You know you have to go through the government, change it and everything,” Tom said. He didn’t know why he was trying to talk Greg out of it, when it actually made him feeling disgustingly warm and fuzzy inside, “You also know when you look me up it’s just a plethora of fucking people on the internet calling me a piece of shit.”

“Wambsgans-Hirsch _does_ sound better,” Greg nodded, ignoring Tom entirely, “Gets all those syllables out of the way early on. Flows better. Hirsch-Wambsgans doesn’t sound good. It sounds backed up or something.”

“You’re a fucking romantic Greg. Did you know that?”

“I have been told that before,” Greg smiled, “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

“You have to use it all the time. Put it on your passport and your license and everything.”

“I know,” Greg nodded, “I don’t mind. Do you mind?”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I don’t mind.”

“ Might be kind of nice.”

“Did you like, want to have Hirsch as well? Cause you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You’re not taking my fucking name if I don’t get yours as well asshole. Obviously I’m taking yours.”

“That’d piss my dad off,” Greg mused, “I’ll make sure to tell him.”

“Greg while we’re talking legalities,” Tom waved his hand, “I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“I think we should draw up a prenup.” It had been on Tom’s mind, dancing just out of reach since the proposal. His mother would have agreed, though she hadn’t brought the subject up. It was a touchy subject, that was true, and he had absolutely no idea how Greg was going to react, “You’re going to get a significant amount of money from your grandfather, and I’ve got money from the divorce settlement. It’s just a formality.”

“Yeah alright,” Greg nodded, “I’d be alright with that.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m preparing to get a divorce.”

“That’s not what I would have thought. My parents had one and my mom still got fucked, but imagine how fucked she’d have been if they didn’t? It’s probably better to be safe than sorry.”

“And we’ll do it together and everything. I just-”

“You don’t have to like, justify it. I’m agreeing with you.”

“I don’t ever want to have to use it,” Tom said. Maybe talking about this was distinctly _unromantic_ but it made him feel better. If he hadn’t had one with Shiv, he would have been, as Greg had put it, fucked. But if he and Greg did it together, ensuring that it was for the best, maybe it would be alright. He wanted Greg to be taken care of if he fucked it all up, because Tom knew, in the end, if someone were going to fuck their marriage up, it would be him. 

Not Greg. Greg with his fucking earnest smile and fucking romantic streak would not be the one to ruin it.

“Tom, it’s alright. It’s a good idea. Honestly, like, Grandpa had mentioned it to me, but like, I didn’t know how to bring it up to you? I’m glad that, like, you brought it up because he would have been pissed if we didn’t.”

“You need a lawyer that’s not my mother to look it over for you when we write it. I’d also like, if it’s all the same to you, to put in something re: infidelity. It’s not you Greg, it’s me.”

“I don’t mind that,” Greg said, “Because one of us has actually been unfaithful before, so like, maybe that’s for the best.”

Greg’s tone was full of humor, and it honestly made him feel better. Like Greg didn't suddenly want to break off the engagement just because Tom had brought the subject up.

“I think that this was a productive dinner,” Tom leaned back in his chair, “I got a new last name out of the deal.”

“If I was you I would have wanted a new last name, like, ages ago.”

Tom didn’t mention how willing he’d been to dump Wambsgans all together, just take Shiv’s last name. Make his joining the Roys even more official. But she’d never picked up on how serious he was, and it obviously didn’t happen. And no, he knew that wouldn’t have made him a Roy, not in the way he craved, but it would have been a step in that direction.

Now, though, maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

"I'm getting one," Tom said, "It's pretty nice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am once again asking for tomgreg honeymoon destinations


	8. suit shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom doesn't trust Greg to get himself a suit for the wedding and that's probably for the best

The problem with Greg is that even after all the time in New York, all the time having money, the man did not know how to really dress himself. A good portion of his pants were too short, his jackets were too boxy, and he did not know a single thing about the difference between black tie, formal, and semi-formal. Any time he’d been to an event, he admitted, he had to look up what it meant, even if it was the same as the event prior. 

That was why Tom insisted on going suit shopping with him. Tom could buy a suit by himself, but he did not trust Greg to come home with the correct outfit for the occasion. This was too important of an event for Greg to be trusted on his own in a high end store. 

“What’s the occasion gentlemen?” the woman-- Claire was how she’d introduced herself-- on the sales floor asked. 

“We’re getting married,” Greg said, smiling, “But Tom wants to make sure I don’t look dumb.”

“Well it’s our _wedding_ Greg, why would I let you look dumb,” Tom said, “Semi formal? It’s an evening wedding in June in Minnesota.”

“Say no more,” Claire laughed, “My wife is the same way. She didn’t know the first thing about what to wear to our wedding and I said, dear, you can’t very well show up unprepared. I do this for a living. How frightfully embarrassing that would be.”

Tom laughed too. It was nice to hear this woman say something like that so casually. It wasn’t that he didn’t know there were other same sex couples out there, he’d just simply not been around them growing up, and never really thought about it as an adult. Greg said it was internalized homophobia and heteronormativity, but Tom still wasn’t even sure what the fuck he’d been talking about. 

Regardless, it was nice. Maybe she would be even more helpful.

“Let’s get you measured and I’ll pick somethings out that should be appropriate for the setting,” she said, ushering Greg into the back. Tom gave him a thumbs up. 

Tom poked around, eyed the other shoppers casually, and then went to the back when called. 

“This one’s a nice and safe option,” Claire said, “You can’t go wrong with black and white. It’d have to be altered. You’re awfully tall.”

“Taller than him,” Greg said, smirking.

“You’re not funny,” Tom replied, “See Greg, this is how clothes are meant to look.”

“If you’re wearing black and white as well, it would look very clean. And for an evening, formally wedding, you want to keep things crisp.”

“I don’t think that jacket looks very good on him. It’s a little,” Tom gestured vaguely, “Something’s off.”

“He doesn’t fill it out very well. He’s too slender for it I’d say,” Claire stepped back to look, “You’re right about that. Let’s try another one.”

She traded Greg for a different jacket and he pulled it on, “How did you two meet, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“We used to work together,” Tom said, after a glance at Greg. The amount of times they were asked that was only going to increase, and they were going to have to come up with a solid answer that wasn’t, oh, he was engaged to my cousin and then we started hooking up when his marriage started falling apart, “You know. Went on from there.”

“Well, congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you. You know, I think that one might be better.”

“I tend to agree,” Claire said.

Greg glanced at himself in the mirror, though Tom knew that he’d accept any suit that wasn’t too small and didn’t hang past his hands. 

Tom nodded thoughtfully, “You don’t think if we both have black on it’s too… much?”

“I don’t think so,” Claire put her hands on her hips, “I mean, it’s _such_ a classic style, so long as you’re not wearing the exact same suit, same designer and everything, I don’t think you’ll see an issue. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Tom nodded again, “What do you think Greg?”

“It’s nice,” Greg pulled on the jacket and looked in the mirror again, “I think it’s nice.”

Claire gave him the look of a long suffering spouse, as if to show some kind of solidarity. Tom smiled back. 

“You might have to have it altered slightly,” she said, “But it fits very well.”

Tom agreed, and the decision was made. Another twenty minutes or so and they were back outside. People passed by with bags of shopping, pushing strollers or pulling each other along. He thought about taking Greg’s hand. It wasn’t that New York City would think much of it, but New York City was synonymous with Logan Roy in his head, with everything Tom was desperate to ignore, and he didn’t like any sort of public affection with Greg where Logan might somehow see. It felt… risky. 

Tom hadn’t spoken much to Logan when the divorce was still ongoing. But he couldn't imagine that his ex father in law had a very high opinion of him. And he didn’t want that to affect Greg.

No, it was better this way. He put his hands in his jacket pocket.

“Feels more real,” Greg said.

“What?”

“Like, when you have a dress rehearsal and you get your costume.”

“Is that what it is? A costume?”

Greg shrugged, “Not quite. I’m having, like, a hard time thinking that we’re really going to get married.”

“You’re still on that?” Tom asked, like he too didn’t spend several hours lying awake at night thinking about the same thing. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to pull the rug out from under him.

His mother, when he’d first spoke about Greg, had said that more than anything, she wanted him to be happy. That his parents just wanted him to be happy. And Tom knew that was what parents wanted for their children, but Tom couldn’t help but think that he surely couldn’t deserve that. He’d done too much bad for anything good to happen. And even if it had started out as kind of scummy, as an affair, as _whatever_ Tom knew that marrying Greg was a good thing. Maybe the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

“Yeah,” Greg smiled, “Probably, like, I’m probably gonna be on it for a while.”

“Fucking idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	9. plane ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thousand words of Tom being Tom about everything but this time in an airplane

It was no private jet, that was for sure, but Tom adamantly refused to fly coach for the wedding, and Greg, who probably still couldn't explain the difference between first and business class, hadn’t minded the extra expense. 

(He thought Mondale had been distinctly excited about flying-- he liked car rides after all, but Tom was still vaguely worried about him all alone down there. Thankfully the flight was short.)

Greg, much like a toddler, had eaten half a sandwich, drank half a bottle of water, and then promptly fell asleep on Tom’s shoulder. 

Tom honestly didn’t mind it. He liked when Greg slept on him. It was a physical reminder of how Greg felt about him. So he put up with the awkwardness and tried to flip through his magazine without jostling Greg around too much. 

It was strange that so much time had passed, and that the wedding was so soon. They had a hotel-- Tom had searched for the one that had the best pet friendly reviews-- but promised his parents they’d spend at least a night at home. 

He wasn’t nervous to get married. 

Marriage was simple. It was a logical next step with someone that you loved and wanted to be with. It gave you the legal benefits you wanted, healthcare. All that shit. It was, at its very core, distinctly unromantic. There was nothing to be nervous about getting married.

The idea of having to get married in front of everybody-- that was a little something else. He and Greg had already decided that they weren’t doing any of those homemade sappy written vows. Tom, because he simply refused to say them in front of anybody else. Greg had gone along with it, but secretly Tom wondered if he wanted to and just couldn’t say it. 

He sometimes had a feeling that Greg just went along with things to make him happy, to keep him appeased or some shit like that. He couldn’t prove it, not really, it was just a hunch. It didn’t make him feel very good, that maybe Greg was giving more than his fair share to the relationship because he was, what, worried Tom would be angry? Would leave him? Whatever it was, Tom hoped it wasn’t true.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t write vows. Sure, he and Shiv had opted out, but they’d had a nice reading, and that had been that. Shiv, he was certain, would not have wanted to be all gushy in front of her family, God, and everybody in between. That had been good with him.

Greg was harder to read on this one. 

He told himself he’d give them a shot. It wasn’t like Greg ever had to read them, and maybe it would make a nice anniversary gift down the line, but every time he sat down to write, he suddenly lost his entire grasp on the English language. The words wouldn’t flow and anything that did was completely incoherent. 

That made him feel… well he didn’t know what, but it wasn’t great 

Was he really that incapable of writing down exactly what he felt? It wasn’t like he didn’t _know_ how he felt. Wasn’t like Greg didn’t know. He just didn’t know how to say it in a way that made sense. And it sort of made him feel shitty. He spent hours combing websites about how to write your own wedding vows, read every one he could find online, but they did little to help him. 

Maybe he was just incapable of it. Greg would never have to know how hard he struggled. How badly he wanted to have _something_ to fucking thank Greg for putting up with him. To let him know that he really did love him, so much that he wasn’t even sure he could adequately explain it. 

Greg sighed and sat up lazily. He rolled his shoulders and looked over. 

“We there yet?”

Tom checked his watch, “Another hour so so. Nice nap?”

“Actually I feel like I am trapped in a box.”

“You have freakishly long legs,” Tom explained, “Is that why?”

“Yes. I would kill for more leg room.”

“Sorry dipshit. Fasten seatbelt light’s still on. You missed the turbulence announcement.”

“I don’t like, actively miss hanging around the Roys and stuff,” Greg muttered, settling back onto Tom’s shoulder, “But the private planes were nice.”

“ _That’s_ what you miss?”

“Being rich was nice,” Greg said, “I mean like, Waystar rich or whatever but it’s toxic there.”

“That’s your favorite descriptor huh? You must have only learned the one word.”

“Mostly because my boss was borderline verbally abusive with me at times. But I ended up blackmailing my way out of it. So I guess, like, it evened out in the end.”

“Well that _does_ sound pretty toxic. How’d you ever get out of it?”

“Started fucking him,” Greg laughed to himself and Tom couldn’t help but chuckle as well, “Went downhill after that. Or maybe it went uphill. Is that an expression? I’d quit a high paying job anytime for you.”

That would have worked for vows. 

Why couldn’t Tom come up with anything like that? Greg was simply not allowed to somehow write vows that were better than his. He’d never forgive Greg if he was secretly some poet and gave Tom the prettiest fucking words ever, and Tom was left with a bunch of half assed and scratched out sentances. Sure, it was fucked to turn wedding vows into a competition, but since Tom was _aware_ of that fact, he figured it was alright. 

“Shut up,” Tom muttered, “Go back to sleep if you want.”

“Yeah,” Greg yawned, “I was thinking about the wedding.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m excited.”

“I hope so. There’s a lot that’s gone into it for you to be unenthusiastic.”

“All that matters is the marriage Tom,” Greg said. Tom had noticed he was some kind of sage philosopher only when he was tired or inebriated. Most of the time, he was comprehensible, if a little dumb, rarely he said something stupid, until you realized his true motivations, and other times, he was just trying to keep up with the conversation. Tom loved all of it.

“I know that. I’m aware of how marriages work Greg.”

Greg laughed, but Tom thought he might have been laughing at some private joke or thought, and he didn’t ask him to elaborate. Greg shifted a bit, and Tom gave it about two minutes before checking to see if Greg was asleep. 

He was.

“Idiot,” Tom muttered, and kissed the top of his head, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	10. marriage license

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg proposes an idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this concept was the reason i wrote this entire fic and i literally stole it from the office a little bit

Much to Tom’s surprise, Greg was up when he woke up. A glance at the clock told him it was only just after eight, so whatever Greg was doing on his laptop must have been important. 

“There’s no like, waiting period to get married after you get your license here,” he said, when Tom came over to peek at the screen.

“What am I meant to do with that fact?” he glanced around, “Is there coffee?”

“Yeah I went downstairs and got you a latte. It’s on the counter.”

“Oh. Thanks. Why the fucking information session on Minnasota’s marriage laws before breakfast?”

“I had kind of an idea,” Greg said, almost sheepish, Tom thought. He held up a hand and picked up the coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need to be caffeinated for this. Once he’d had sufficient, he nodded for Greg to continue, “That maybe like, today we could get married.”

“Gregory, you do realize we’re here to get married on Saturday. That’s the entire purpose of this trip.”

“No, I know. I just, look, I’m so excited for the wedding. Like you know that right? But like, what if we just snuck off and got married officially today, so that we could just have it be the two of us. Is that dumb? This is stupid isn’t it.”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Tom frowned, “You would like that?”

“Course I would. I don’t know. Like, I _want_ to have the wedding with everybody, but like, I don’t know. I also kinda want something that’s just for us. Like no dramatics or problems or anything. That way, if maybe something ends up going south, we still like, have this.”

“You’ve been stewing on this one for a bit haven’t you,” Tom said. 

“I thought about it on the plane. I don’t know. You said you were worried about something going wrong, so like. It’s just an idea. You can say no. Like it’s merely a suggestion.”

“Dumbass of course I’m not saying no.”

Greg fucking _beamed_.

“I know we need like, witnesses and shit, but like, honestly, I think we can figure it out. Like, I don’t know. Maybe it’s fucking sappy or whatever but like, I just want to be married to you man.”

“It is sappy,” Tom came over and kissed his forehead, “It’s sappy as shit Greg, but holy fuck I love you.”

And Tom figured it was decided. And he liked it a lot. The wedding was going to be fun. Tom knew that. There’d been hours and hours of planning and hundreds of dollars pooled together to ensure that it would be, but sometimes he had to admit that it would have been nice to say fuck all that and get married. 

Guess Greg knew him better than he knew himself. When the fuck had that happened.

“What are we wearing?” Greg called from the bathroom. Tom had let him get ready first, mostly so he could finish his latte, but also because he wanted a moment alone to process the fact that evidently this was not all some cruel joke that Greg was playing on him. Revenge maybe, for shit Tom made him do. Apparently he really fucking meant it when he said I love you, “Not the suits for Saturday right?”

“No, you’ll fuck it up and get it dirty. I’d do a business casual,” Tom called back, “Like you’d wear to the office. But if it doesn’t fit you right Greg, we’re going to the tailor’s first. You’re like a fucking noodle.”

“I only brought Tom approved clothing,” Greg called back and Tom chuckled to himself.

Sometimes, Tom thought about the way he’d ended up where he was. Then he would remember that there was honest to God no way that he could have ever seen this coming. That he could explain to himself two years ago, three years ago, a decade ago, that one day he was going to be sitting in a Minnesota court house about to get married, with the _man_ he’d fallen head over heels for against his own better judgment sitting next to him, with one divorce already under his belt. It was not the way he would have hoped his life would go, but now, it was exactly what he wanted. He just wanted whatever the next chapter entailed. 

Marriage. Take two.

“You think the woman at the desk recognized us?” Greg whispered, “She was kind of giving me that vibe. Like the hey, like I saw you make an idiot out of yourself on TV.” 

Tom stole a glance over, “No. She probably just thought you were an idiot in general.”

“She probably couldn't believe I could spell your last name. Like, that I would voluntarily take it.”

“Fuck you.”

They had struck a deal with the couple right ahead of them, to play witness at each other’s weddings. Tom thought that was a strange bond to have with a stranger, but then again everybody was a stranger once upon a time. And the bride had called them a cute couple, and asked how they met.

(“My Uncle’s birthday party a few years ago,” Greg had replied smoothly, before Tom could even reply. He still hadn’t come up with a go to answer for that question, “What about you two?”)

“Are you nervous?” Greg asked. 

“Why would I be nervous? _I’ve_ done this before.”

“You look nervous.”

“No,” Tom said, firmly certain it was true, “I’m not nervous. I’m actually excited. I’m just thinking about life or whatever. We’re about to get _married_ what the fuck Greg.”

“Technically twice,” Greg nodded, “Today and Saturday.”

“You love me that much?” Tom whispered.

“Yeah man. I do. I’m like- this isn’t me fucking around with you. No surprises. Just this.”

Tom put his head on Greg’s shoulder for a moment. A reassuring touch he supposed. A reminder that he wasn’t fucking dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tomgreg content has slapped especially hard lately. y'all are doing the most. i humbly present you this


	11. bachelor party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets another bachelor party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to the the fly guys. love them

Greg had insisted that he did not want to go out for a bachelor party. Tom had tried to argue. It was his last night as a bachelor, technically, in the eyes of their family and friends, that it was a staple of weddings, that it would be fun, but Greg had reminded him that they were already married anyway, and told Tom to go out and have fun, he was going to go out with his mother and grandfather. Ewan found a vegan restaurant he wanted to go to, and Greg figured he’d go along for the ride/

“You’re sure about this,” Tom said, fixing his shirt in the mirror. Greg poked his head out of the bathroom, “That you don’t want to come?”

“Bachelor parties aren’t supposed to have the future spouse there that’s like a rule I’m pretty sure,” Greg said, “Like, go have a bachelor party. Do you know where you’re going?”

“No,” Tom said. A few of his cousins and his father had gotten together with Matt and Jonas, who had ragged on him about _are you sure we’re allowed to come to this one Tom?_ but the plans had been top secret. Tom imagined it was probably going to involve a lot of drinking and maybe strippers. He didn’t really see any of them as the type to plan something out of the ordinary. That was a classic bachelor party, “I’d imagine it's going to be full of debauchery.”

“Don’t fuck anybody,” Greg said.

“Same goes to you.”

“If you want your dick sucked, I’ll do it when you get back to the hotel,” Greg said casually, like he was remarking on how nice the weather had been that day, “You don’t need, like, an outside hire.”

“Jesus Christ Greg,” Tom sputtered.

“Just thought I’d throw it out there you know? Cross it off the list. Reassure you,” He smiled and went back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He really didn’t know where they were going, and still didn’t, until they got to the bar, half an hour into the city. Actually, the idea of a relatively simple bachelor party was incredibly inviting. He had a newfound (or maybe a newly _rediscovered_ ) love of the simple. Going out drinking at a bar with his family and friends sounded… classic. Simple. 

Maybe this was just the sort of life he was supposed to have. Not underground sexy parties in Brooklyn or multi million dollar weddings in the English countryside. 

Maybe it was just time to stop trying so Goddamn hard to be somebody he was clearly not.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t _slightly_ nervous for tonight,” Tom called over the dull din of the bar. The group had taken over two booths, and Tom already had a beer in hand. 

“Good,” Matt said, clapping him on the back, “It’s a lot of alcohol. And probably strippers and shitty food.”

“Cheers,” Tom held up the glass then took a long sip, “I’m a good boy tonight. I promised Greg.”

“Course,” Jonas added, “We won’t make you do anything too untoward. Come on dude, tell us. What’s the deal?”

“With what?”

“With your new boy? We didn’t know you liked guys too,” Jonas frowned, “If I ever said anything biogted, I’m so sorry. You know what fraternities are like.”

“Oh no I’m sure you didn’t. You don’t have to apologize. I’m pretty sure _I_ probably said something,” Tom frowned, “Yeah. It just never came up I guess? I don’t know. It’s kind of complicated.”

“No offense man,” Matt picked up his own beer, “He’s a lot chiller than the Roys were. He’s not a dick. I don’t know. I don’t think you ever really fit in with them. I think maybe this is a better one. Nobody ever knew how you landed Shiv anyway.”

“Fuck you,” Tom rolled his eyes.

“But it wasn’t a good fit.”

“No. I don’t think it was either. I tried though.”

“I hope this one lasts,” Matt laughed, “Hey everybody, toast to the groom huh?”

There was a lot of cheers, a lot of laughter, and Tom downed half his beer. 

The rest of the night was mostly a blur. He remembered putting his father in a taxi after only a few hours, remembered vaguely, Greg reminding him to eat if he was going to drink alot-- presumably he’d said this to someone, because there had been a basket of fries on the table shortly after. He remembered being incredibly sloppy and gushing about Greg to one of the bartenders, had a vague memory of his cousin Jacob informing the man it was his bachelor party.

Finally, it was nearing light when somebody-- probably another one of his cousins, Steven who had graciously been designated the sober one-- had brought him back to the hotel room and deposited him in bed. He heard Greg thank him quietly and tell him he’d see him on Saturday. 

“Did you have fun?” Greg asked, “Here, drink this water before you go to sleep.”

“Oh yeah,” Tom said, mostly into his pillow. He was tired, and his brain was foggy, “Did you?”

“I did. I brought you a nice bit of takeout to have tomorrow. My mom was like, worried I guess about you having a hangover. You should try and sleep,” Greg said and Tom felt him kiss the top of his head, “I’m glad you’re back in one piece.”

“I was real good,” Tom muttered, rolling over a bit so he could see Greg better. The curtains were drawn, and the sun was still not up so he had to squint a little bit to see much of anything, “Like I said. No fucking around.”

“I know you were,” Greg smiled, “I trust you Tom. You can tell me about it in the morning. Well, like later this morning I guess if you want to.”

“I’m going to sleep,” Tom declared.

“I wish you would dumbass.”

“Fuck off,” Tom muttered, attempting to smack Greg, but failing miserably by about five inches. 

“Goodnight,” Greg whispered, and Tom felt him kiss the top of his head, “I’ll come get you for breakfast.”


	12. rehearsal dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom mingles, and Greg makes him talk about his feelings

Technically, Greg’s mother and grandfather had yet to officially meet Tom’s parents. They’d only gotten in from Canada a few days ago and the little introduction they’d had hadn’t been much of a meeting at all. According to Greg, Ewan had spent most of the time bitching about everything to Marianne when Greg wasn’t around to bitch to. But, he’d informed Tom, that was pretty normal, so there wasn’t anything to worry about.

“But he’s here, so like, I think that’s a good thing,” Greg had explained. Tom would truly never understand the dynamics that existed with your family when your last name was Roy.

When Tom had finally escaped his aunt’s incessant fretting over every detail by unloading her onto Greg-- he’d apologize for it later-- he found Marianne and Ewan talking to his parents over champagne. 

He hoped that was a good thing.

“There’s Tommy now,” his mother said.

“I see you’ve all met,” Tom accepted his mother’s offer of wine thankfully, “Hi Mrs. Hirsch, Mr. Roy. It’s nice to see you again.”

Marianne kissed both his cheeks fondly, and Ewan gave him a stiff nod. He’d take what he could get honestly. Despite it, he found it much easier to get a vague read on Ewan’s general neutral feelings on him than Logan’s general dislike of him. Besides, Ewan seemed to dislike everybody equally. 

“Where’s Greg?” his father asked. 

“Talking to Aunt Diane. She has a lot to say about the food.”

“Poor boy,” he glanced over the room and shook his head wistfully, “We were just talking about how we should all go out to dinner now, since we’re going to be family now.”

“That sounds lovely,” Marianne eyed him with a smile. Greg mostly looked like his father, Tom knew that, but there was something in Greg’s smile that he must have inherited from his mother, “Maybe before you two jet off around the world we can all have a nice brunch.”

“Oh Evie,” his father said, “That little diner, you know the one. That’s where we should go.”

“Do you need me for this?” Tom muttered to his mother. 

“Go mingle,” She waved her hand, “Henry, dear, it’s called Al’s. We’ve been there a hundred times.”

Tom excused himself from his parents jokings, and tried to greet everybody. Tom knew that a large portion of the guests were his own extended family, those that would come anyway, and the few college friends he still spoke to. Greg had a couple of friends who mostly lingered with each other. But people seemed to be generally enjoying themselves. The food looked good, the wine _was_ good, and he’d been congratulated several times.

“Hi Aunt Diane,” he smiled and took Greg’s elbow, “Do you think I might borrow my fiancé for a minute?”

“Oh sure Tommy,” she smiled back, “I like him.”

“Me too,” Tom replied, and pulled Greg along as he waved goodbye.

“What’s wrong?” Greg whispered.

“Nothing. I just want to talk to you outside for a second. Just two minutes alone.”

“Oh sure.”

Tom nodded, and slid past several people, waving polively on his way. He slipped onto the balcony, tugging Greg along as he did. The night was sticky and warm, though not unpleasant. Greg pushed the doors shut after them.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m good,” Tom said, “I am. Really.”

“Like, are you trying to convince me?”

“No, I mean it,” Tom frowned, “I’m fine. I just wanted a second with you. Is that allowed?”

“Course it is,” Greg said, “You excited about tomorrow?”

“About the wedding? Yes. About you breaking my foot when we try to dance? That’s a different story.”

“I don’t think it’ll be _that_ bad.”

“No,” Tom shook his head and held out a hand. Greg took it after a moment, “No it probably won’t be. It’s fuckign weird Greg. Is it just me or is this just _weird_?”

“It’s kinda weird.”

“And I’m so fucking glad we got the legal-ness out of the way. I don’t think I could have made it. I might have just exploded. But now we got that done. This is just essentially a party.”

Greg nodded, “Yeah. A party with like, fancy cake and a shit ton of alcohol.”

“The best kind,” Tom waved his hand, “Listen, I don’t want to be like this in front of my parents, or your mother, or whatever. I’m not making a fucking toast tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you suck at public speaking. Oh, do you know Greg. No. Fucking idiot.”

“Fuck off, you’re not better,” Tom said, “So I’m just going to say it now. I’m really, _really_ excited to be married to you. To call you my fucking _husband._ I just wanted you to know that alright? We’re going to be busy tomorrow, so I just thought I’d tell you now.”

They were not the vows he wanted to write. But maybe they were all he was going to be able to give. Maybe they could be enough.

“And,” Tom continued before Greg could reply, “It’s been hellish. Everything. My whole life-- fuck I don’t know. It’s been leading up to this I guess. I try thinking about telling myself as a kid about this. I’d never have believed it. Goddamn, I was too-”

“Repressed?”

Tom cracked a smile, “Yeah. I guess so. But I guess I should apologize. I haven’t been very nice to you. Especially before. You didn’t deserve me to take my anger out on you.”

“Therapy was a good idea Tom.”

“Greg, literally shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry,” Greg smiled, “I mean it though. It was good for you.”

“I want this, want _us_ to be a new chapter. No fucking Waystar or affairs or anything like that. Just let’s make this fucking work.”

“Yeah. Yeah I agree.”

Maybe he could work with that. Write down what he’d just said and then expand on it. Fuck, why was it all coming to him _now?_ He’d spent months trying to form a single coherent thought. 

“I love you,” Greg said, “You do know that right? Like I really fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”


	13. reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg reckons with marriage, Ewan thinks the cake is good, and Tom is just excited to be there honestly

Tom understood the importance of the wedding reception. Not only was it essentially a party you were hosting, but it was the first event as a married couple. The first dance mattered. The toasts mattered. Maybe it was bad, but Tom wanted to impress the guests. 

The idea of dance lessons had floated around, but Greg had pointed out that there was no way they’d be able to get through them without either killing each other or spending the entire time bitching at each other, and therefore, they probably wouldn’t learn anything. 

Instead, the dance floor had remained open to everyone the entire night. Tom didn’t mind dancing so much with Greg when there were other couples dancing around them. Didn’t mind the sheer embarrassment of it all when Tom’s father had politely asked Marianne to dance and one of Tom’s Great Aunts had firmly set herself on the edge of the dancefloor with Ewan, where, last Tom had heard, they were discussing Middle Eastern political history. 

“Guess they’re getting along alright?” Tom muttered. The music was quiet, and slow, but he still didn’t want to be heard. It was easy to sway instead of dance-- you didn’t need lessons for that, and it was easy to focus on Greg’s hand on his back, and the firmness of his grip, “Your family and mine?”

“Like, it looks like that’s true,” Greg nodded approvingly, “Were you worried?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now though.”

“Your Dad came to talk to me earlier,” Greg chuckled softly, “When you were getting a drink. Like, holy shit man. He, like, wants to be _my_ dad too.”

“Well he’s your father in law now,” Tom said, “So that makes sense.”

“No, I get that. But he distinctly noticed that my dad is not here, so he asked and I said we don’t really talk, so much, and he was like, I’m happy to fill the role.”

“They like you,” Tom said. 

_They_ like you because you make me happier than anybody before. They like you because I don’t have to put on a performance to be around you. They liked you because you treat them with respect, because you’re a good person, even if it’s deep down.”

But he didn’t say any of that. All he said was, “They like you because you’re likeable.”

“It’s nice,” Greg nodded, “Like, that he said that to me.”

At some point during the night, Greg had deposited his jacket somewhere, so it was just a few layers of thin fabric separating Tom’s hand from the skin on Greg’s back. He could feel it now, as they were sort of dancing. Greg had never minded when Tom touched him. 

“You’re sort of bad at this,” Greg muttered. 

“Literally fuck you,” Tom shook his head, “Besides, do you want a drink? Sit down for a little bit? I think it’s almost dinner time anyway.”

“Oh sure,” Greg said, “I’m a little sweaty anyway.”

“Gross.”

Tom picked up two glasses of wine, and watched Greg down half his in about two seconds. It was warm in the hall, mostly from dancing Tom figured. A glance around the room gave Tom the impression that the party was going well. It wasn’t so much that he _needed_ the reception to go well. The marriage was more important, but it would be nice to know that people would have fun on a significantly smaller budget, in his hometown. He knew it probably still made him an arrogant asshole with a penchant for trying to claw his way up the social ladder, but he’d accepted that, and that was probably the first step.

Greg touched his elbow gently, “Want to step out for a second?”

“All you and I seem to do is sneak away from things,” Tom said, setting his glass down, “But yes. It’s hot as hell in here.”

They went out to the same balcony from the other night-- he made a joke about how they’d rehearsed for _this_ as well. It was a little cooler outside, the light breeze helped after all. But the music could still be heard faintly, and Tom leaned back against the door.

“What’s up with you?” Tom asked. 

“Nothing. I just, like, wanted two seconds alone at our wedding reception.”

“Are you alright?”

Greg nodded, “I’m like, the best I’ve been in a long time man. I know that’s, like, romantic or cheesy or _whatever_ but I just wanted to tell you that. Like, I don’t know. I felt like shit for so long, I never _expected_ to get married or whatever.”

“Is this your wedding toast?”

“I guess,” Greg rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t know. Some of us, like, don’t have practice with this sort of thing.”

“Come on dickhead. What’s wrong?”

“Like really nothing,” Greg shook his head, “I just kind of keep thinking that this is a dream or something. Like I’m going to wake up and it’s all fake or whatever. I mean, it’s like, a very vivid dream but still.”

Tom shook his head, went over, and kissed him, “It’s not a dream. I promise it’s not a dream. You’re not creative enough to come up with a dream like this.”

“That’s weirdly reassuring.”

“Come back inside. Your grandfather’s been eyeing that cake all night.”

Back inside they went, just in time for dinner. Greg kept a hand on his thigh almost the entire time, while his mother and Greg’s mother discovered a similar taste in celebrities. Greg caught his eye and smirked. 

Maybe he didn’t need to be so worried about their families. Sure, Ewan looked sort of bored, but Tom was getting the impression that that was his resting face. And besides, there was no way Ewan could be as hateful as his brother. But really, it wasn’t as important to have this approval. It would be nice, if Marianne told him point blank that he’s proved himself worthy of Greg’s hand or whatever the fuck exactly he wanted, but maybe that was never going to happen. Maybe she’d just invite them to Christmas dinner and come to see them once or twice and year and it would just be normal. Perhaps normal would be good.

When the cake was served, and Greg had smashed half a piece into his face-- it really was good cake-- Ewan stated firmly that it was a proper chocolate cake, and Tom was pretty sure that was the most he was going to get out of the man that night. 

“You made a fucking mess,” Greg laughed, wiping frosting out of his own hair, “That felt like you enjoyed it.”

Tom laughed too and took the napkin to finish the job, “I’ll admit, covering your face in frosting was enjoyable. You take it so well.”

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“It is a good cake.”

Tom nodded. He was pretty sure Greg wasn’t just talking about the cake. 

“Yeah. It is.”


	14. wedding night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has an objectively better wedding night.

They’d finally retreated to their hotel room after two thirty. Tom had bid his family goodbye, reminding them that they’d see them at breakfast the next morning, and he and Greg were finally alone. He tossed his jacket across the desk, and glanced in the mirror. Greg sat down on the edge of the bed and loosened his tie, while Tom watched him in the mirror.

“Long night?” Tom asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Everything alright?”

“I wanted to, like, talk to you about something.”

Tom whipped around, halfway finished undoing his tie. He knew, logically, that Greg was not about to drop a bomb on him, but the idea did cross his mind. How cruel would that have been? To let him go through all of this only to drop something awful on him now? 

“ _What?_ ”

(Maybe he would have deserved that.)

Greg, who must have seen the utter terror in his face, jumped up, looking mildly distressed, “No no. No it’s not bad. It’s not like that. Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that like that. I’m so sorry.”

(No, he reminded himself. He did not deserve that. Nobody deserved _that._ And the voice in his head that said so sounded vaguely like Greg’s.)

He came over and gently took Tom’s hands. 

“Give me a fucking heart attack why don’t you, you fucking asshole. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Greg kissed his forehead, chuckling to himself. Eventually, Tom would also find it funny, and he knew that, but he was still recovering from it all, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I, like, forgot I guess. It’s not bad, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s good. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“What is it?” Tom asked cautiously. He had no idea what Greg was about to talk about, but he did think Greg was telling the truth, that it would be good, whatever it was. Greg wouldn’t have done something like that to him, not when he was very clear on everything that had happened, everything that Tom was trying to avoid this time around.

Greg was good. He was, and Tom knew it. Greg was a fucking street urchin and a moron, but he genuinely believed that Greg was a good person. If Greg had wanted to see other people, he’d have told Tom months ago. He believed that. 

Besides, Tom had spent months before the engagement trying everything he could to see if Greg might want to see other people. Pointing out people in restaurants and bars and stores who seemed to be giving Greg a second glance, but honest to God, Greg had never shown the slightest interest in anybody else. It constantly amazed Tom. 

“I like, well I wrote you wedding vows. And I know that like, we decided _not_ to write them, but I did anyway and I thought it might be a nice wedding present. I was going to give them to you, like, the other day when we got married, but I wanted you to have something nice on our actual like, official wedding night or whatever.”

“Oh,” Tom said softly, “I didn’t-”

“I know. I know that,” Greg let go of him and dug around in his inner pocket, “And I know what you said and I don’t expect it of you. I just think that like, I’m not very good at words and shit. I mean, you know me. So I wrote it down. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. Keep it. Whatever. I just need you to have it.”

He handed Tom the envelope. It was letter sized, with Tom’s name written in Greg’s sloppy handwriting. It felt like he was receiving something holy, something _divine._ Really it was just paper. In fact, Greg had probably typed it anyway. But it _felt_ like the most important thing anybody had ever given him in his entire life. Like he’d finally become worthy enough to receive something like this.

“That’s all,” Greg smiled, “I just wanted you to have it. I don’t know. I didn’t know what to get you Tom. You’re fucking hard to shop for or whatever. You can rag on me for it and like, I won’t even mind it. I know it’s fucking cheesy.”

“No,” Tom said. He set the envelope down on the dresser, “No it’s not. It’s fucking romantic. Goddamnit Greg, I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m going to write you vows,” Tom said firmly, taking Greg’s face in his hands, “I will.”

He made a silent promise not to read Greg’s until he’d written his own vows. That would be fair, and it might prove a helpful incentive for him to actually get something down. He was desperate to read what Greg wrote, but he’d be good. It would be a reward to himself. If he could manage to get it all down onto a sheet of paper, then he would be allowed to read Greg’s words.

“You don’t have to, man. Like seriously. I just needed to write them I guess? To say this stuff. It’s not, like, required that you write them.”

Tom shook his head, “I will. Just not tonight. Tonight I’m going to rip this fucking shirt off of you. Is that alright?”

“Go ahead man. You’re the one that bitched about clothes, for, like, a week.”

Tom laughed, and knocked him back onto the bed. 

“You know you’re not my boss anymore,” Greg said, “You don’t get to boss me around like this.”

“You like it,” Tom said, “You’ve _explicitly told me_ that you like it.”

“I do,” Greg smiled, “And like, maybe you should do it tonight. That can be your present to me. Like, just, bossing me around again.”

“You are a fucking _whore,_ Gregory,” Tom said, and kissed him, “Take your fucking clothes off.”

“That’s not very professional behavior from a boss. That’s, like, definitely against the rules of the office. Like, HR probably wants to know about this.”

“Shut up Greg.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Wambsgans sir,” Greg said, smirking. 

“That’s Mr. Wambsgans- _Hirsch_ to you.”


	15. epilogue: honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg finally do the whole wedding vow thing

Planning a honeymoon had been almost as hard as planning the wedding. That’s what Tom thought anyway. Greg, in his perpetual neutrality, hadn’t shown any real excitement towards any place, and Tom had had to deduce the different levels of neutrality. 

Actually, he thought it was good that he was learning. 

But eventually, the idea of being tucked away somewhere, a cabin in the snow, a ski chalet, somewhere far away from everything and every _one_ had proved too tempting for either of them to pass up. Tom liked the cold, liked the snow, and despite the fact that skiing didn’t appeal very much, staying under several blankets while it stormed outside _did._

They had an entire suite-- kitchen included, and Tom thought that they could reasonably stay there for several weeks without any outside interaction. 

Which was good, because Tom had wedding vows to finish. He was mostly done, but they needed to be cleaned up. Really, he needed someone else to read them over to check them, but there was no way he was going to let anybody read them. He barely wanted Greg to.

But after several late nights and shower brainstorms he’d finally finished, and after Greg made breakfast-- Tom presented the envelope.

“This is for you.”

“What is it?” Greg asked. 

“My wedding vows. Better late than never eh?”

“Oh!” Greg said, taking the envelope excitedly, “For me?”

“No, for my _other_ husband. Yes for you, dumbass.”

“Did you read mine?”

“Not yet,” Tom said, “I told myself that I wouldn’t till you had yours. You go first.”

“No, you go first.”

“We’ll go together, but you cannot ever mention to me a single word. Do you understand me?” Tom frowned, “I’ll never live with how embarrassing it all is.”

“I’ll take that deal,” Greg ripped the envelope open, “Do I have to go in the other room?”

“No,” Tom ran a finger over his name on his own envelope. He took a deep breath then opened it, “Just don’t fucking look at me or I’ll make you leave, and then your breakfast will get cold and I’m not warming it up for you.”

Greg laughed, smiling down at the paper in his hand and Tom flattened his own out. It felt incredibly weird, so indescribably odd to be sitting in a kitchen in a suite in Italy, across the table from Greg, who he was _married_ to. 

He sometimes pinched himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Greg had the right idea. Sometimes the whole thing felt impossible, but Tom didn’t think he was nearly able to come up with something like this for himself. 

It had honestly taken Tom an embarrassingly long time to finish writing them, and he’s pretty much memorized them at this point, so as he watched Greg read for a moment, he knew, almost word for word what was written.

( _Greg,_ they began.

_I can’t really find the right words for this. I know I’m kind of a fuck up when it comes to feelings and all the bullshit that surronds them, but after all the shit you’ve put up with-- after all the shit I made you put up with, you deserve me trying._

_I don’t know what to say, exactly. You came out of nowhere Greg, you really did. Fucking blindsided me. And honestly? I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t shown up to that party. I guess you don’t know how miserable you are until you’re not anymore. I’ve always been shitty at making friends, and then we started being friends and now here we are._

_I’m going to be good Greg, I promise you that. I know that maybe your mother is worried that I’ll do to you, what I did to Shiv. And I know she’s right in her worry, but I promise that you don’t have to be worried about it. I think all that I have ever wanted was somebody to take care of, who would take care of me. Just the two of us, fuck everything else. I really think that. I think that if you and I moved to the middle of the Candian wilderness and never saw another person until Christmas I’d be alright with that._

_I know that I’m not a great person Greg, but honestly, you make me want to try. Just because I don’t want to disappoint you. I know I haven’t always been good to you. I know I treated you like shit, but that’s all over now. It’s just you and me now._

_I need this to work. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Sometimes I think you stop me from losing my own Goddamn mind. And I love you. So much. I hate saying it. That sounds bad, I know, but it makes me feel all vulnerable, and I forget that I’m allowed to be vulnerable with you. It’s hard when you build up all these walls and then somebody digs his way underneath them and shows up in your living room unannounced with a dumbass smile and a genuinely good heart._

_I want to be there for you I guess. For as long as you want me._ )

He watched Greg for a moment longer but couldn’t deduce which part exactly he was on, then finally read his own. 

_Tom-_

_I know I’m pretty shitty with words. I know I’m a nervous talker, but Mom says that sometimes I can say what I want to in about half the time if I just thought about what I was going to say, but actually I’m going to not do that for you. Besides, you read pretty fast, so it won’t even take that long._

_We said no vows, but I don’t actually listen to you that much, as you might have noticed. I know that also maybe you won’t ever even actually read this, so it doesn’t matter. I wrote this while you were asleep because sometimes I watch you sleep. It’s not in a creepy stalkerish way, I promise. You just look a lot more peaceful when you’re asleep. I think that you worry a lot more than you tell me about, so it’s nice that you get to rest sometimes._

_I promise (or should I say vow? It is weird to say vow in your actual vows?) to love you forever. I know it’s romantic. Whatever. It’s true. I love you so much Tom, that I don’t know what to do with myself. Like how? I know you’re worried maybe, that this is going to go to shit. But it’s not Tom. I don’t want anybody but you, and I haven’t for a long time. I just want you and me to be happy. I think that we can. I know you’re an asshole and I’m not much better, but I think sometimes that we’re meant to me you know? I promise to try my hardest to make this work, because I know that maybe you don’t think so, but you deserve somebody to love you Tom. I really think you do. I know that maybe you don’t think that, but I do._

_Now, I don’t know how much that means to you. The opinion of the guy that watches you sleep. Probably not that much. But I mean it Tom. I want to do everything, every single day to make sure I show you. I hope that I can. I’m not sure how, because you’re the most complicated person I have ever met._

_You’re going to make fun of me for this. I know you are. But that’s alright. I don’t mind you ragging on me when you’re upset, because I know you don’t mean it, and I’d rather you rag on me than yourself. Maybe it’s just that I can take it better. I know you don’t mean it to me, but I think maybe you mean it to yourself._

_Maybe more than anything Tom, I hope you can be kinder to yourself. That I can help you be kinder to yourself._

_Anyway, this was probably too sappy for you to even get through. I love you though._

“Well fuck me Greg,” Tom muttered. He’d been good, hadn’t started crying, though he could feel the tightness in his throat, the way you felt when you were adamantly refusing to let yourself cry, “Guess you weren’t bullshitting me when you married me. Are you fucking crying Greg?”

Greg looked up, “No.”

“You are. You’re _crying._ ”

“I mean like, I think it’s fair enough to be crying.”

“Come here asshole,” Tom said, “Come sit here.”

“I don’t think the chair is meant for two people,” Greg said, as he got up and let Tom pull him down into his lap. He hadn’t put up much of a fight honestly. 

“You’re crying,” Tom said again. Greg had buried his face in the crook of Tom’s neck. It wasn’t easy for them both to be squashed into the kitchen chair, and it wasn’t easy for Greg to fit into his lap, but Tom was holding him way too tight for him to even consider getting up, “That’s kind of sweet. I liked what you said. It was, well, fuck. It was fucking wonderful Greg.”

“You weren’t half bad yourself,” Greg muttered, “I didn’t know you felt like that. All that stuff you said about helping you come to terms with yourself and shit.”

“I _married_ you didn’t I?”

“Yeah but like, the first time we met you asked me to kiss you, so like, sometimes I wonder if you just say stuff.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“ _Would_ you kiss me? If I asked you to?”

Greg laughed, took Tom’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this to be self indulgent. thanks for coming along for the ride.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you as always, for listening to my self indulgences.


End file.
